


It's Not Like How I Planned It, I Don't Know How You Stand It

by allmilhouse



Category: Bell Book and Candle (1958)
Genre: Character Study, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28476801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allmilhouse/pseuds/allmilhouse
Summary: While working together on the book, Nicky's perception of Sidney gradually changes
Relationships: Nicky Holroyd/Sidney Redlitch
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	It's Not Like How I Planned It, I Don't Know How You Stand It

**Author's Note:**

> still not sure how to picture them post-canon, so here's them getting together for the umpteenth time because I am a total sap :// title from money by the beaches

He’s not big on social cues. That’s one of the first things that really strikes Nicky about the man, when Shep brings him to Gil’s place the day after Christmas, less than 48 hours after they’d summoned him. Queenie and Gil looked surprised to see him standing there but Nicky never doubted Gil’s powers for a second. If anything, he’d been waiting for this moment, when he mistook Shep’s arrival on Christmas Eve for the man himself. 

“Hiya, Mr Redlitch, what took you so long?” he says when they’re introduced, while Gil’s too busy playing hostess and greeting Shep to reprimand him for being so flippant. The writer just nods, a little dazed but pleasantly so. He’s not confused, exactly, or taken aback, just a little off. But there's a sharpness to his dark eyes, and Nicky suddenly feels as though he's being appraised himself. He retreats to the couch to study the author further, faintly curious and thoroughly amused. He shuffles over when his family joins him, climbing up to perch on the back of the sofa, and they all begin judging their guest in earnest. 

He’s aloof at first, but not in a haughty way, more of an amiable cluelessness. As if it’s a force of habit for him, to migrate away from people, and hover on the fringes of conversations, distantly listening but off in a world of his own. He follows along, nodding when he’s offered a seat but chooses instead to stand, meandering over and looking at some of Gil’s art. When he’s offered a drink he perks up a little, and only fully comes alive once Shep brings the conversation around to magic.

It doesn’t take long, considering the group. Gil stiffens, always on guard- that’s why she bought the damn book in the first place, to find out just how many of their secrets were being spilled on the bestseller’s list for everyone to read. But Nicky watches Sidney with apprehensive bemusement, careful to keep the smile off his face. 

Once Sidney starts lecturing on his favorite subject, he becomes fascinating, his voice growing mellower and his mannerisms more natural. He's fully in his element now, and gets comfortable enough to get up mid-conversation and pour another drink or two. Nicky enjoys playing dumb, feigning surprise about the possibility of witches at the Zodiac and asking inane questions that Sidney is only too happy to answer. 

Nicky has never met anyone who could know so much yet be so oblivious. The man knew more about witchcraft than he thought was possible for a human, but here he was, in a room with three of them, confidently but incorrectly saying he could identify a witch at first glance. 

He wonders how many glances it'll take. 

\---

He’s already making up his mind before Shep announces he’ll publish Sidney’s next book. 

There's something there, he doesn't know what it is exactly, but it's worth pursuing. It's fun, winding up someone who knows everything about you except the obvious fact. The kind of fun Nicky rarely has anymore, the kind Gil insists is dangerous for the community. 

But there's no hint of danger to Sidney at all. Even if he spilled all of their secrets, no one would believe him- no one believes him now, despite how close to the truth he really is. And from the way Shep sounds, the book is going to be at most an amusing curiosity, not some guidebook on how to identify and burn witches in the street. 

Plus the monetary considerations can't be ignored. Nicky's tired of being broke, of swiping food off of plates between sets at the Zodiac, of hocking his stuff and begging Gil to witch it back for him. He doesn't know anything about the publishing racket, but Shep looks to be living comfortably, and Sidney doesn't seem to be hurting for meals. 

Speaking of. Gil shoos them out so she can go romance Shep some more, and Nicky puts on his most ingratiating smile to ask Sidney to join him for a drink. Something friendly and casual that he can hopefully turn into Sidney paying for dinner, and then again spinning off into a successful partnership. He hasn't got it all figured out quite yet. To his eternal regret, he's not as fast a thinker as Gil can be. But he's got a rough idea of how easy things could be, provided he can get Sidney onboard with the plan without scaring him off. 

Sidney strikes him as an unflappable figure. The only thing that seems to shock him is the weather. As they step outside, he shivers a little under his giant grey coat, an ill-fitting thing he purchased that very morning. 

He tells Nicky about it, about how he just got this feeling he needed to be somewhere, and hopped the first plane out of Acapulco. He didn't even pack any luggage in his haste, and doesn’t seem bothered by that oversight. 

"It didn't seem odd to you?" Nicky asks, genuinely curious about the aftermath. He didn't tend to stick around and interrogate victims of Gil's magic. Most of them had it coming anyway. 

"Nah, I've had strange ideas before."

"Yeah," he says slowly, drawing it out into three syllables. "And it was your idea?" He's pushing now, he knows it, but he's not sure just how to broach the subject. There's unsaid rules about these things in the right circles, but there's no clear steps to follow here. Ironically it would make a great chapter for the book: how to out yourself as a warlock to a guy you just met. Although it is complicated by the fact that the guy in question happens to be an authority on the subject, and hasn’t seemed to pick up on any hints. 

There's a twinkle in his eyes and Nicky thinks he's been figured out. Excuses race through his mind, each as unlikely as the rest. But then Sidney looks away, running a hand through his hair again, leaving it sticking up at odd angles. "Sure. Well, I've been meaning to write about witches in New York for a while now. Guess I finally made up my mind about it."

\---

Sidney Redlitch was out of step with the world. He had to be, to fit in so well with the magic crowd. Not that Nicky’s any kind of anthropological expert. If he had a nickel for every time Gil tried to teach him some manners, he certainly wouldn’t be playing any secondhand bongos three nights a week. Hell, some nights he’s considered too outlandish even for The Zodiac, although that’s becoming less often now, as he’s beginning to settle into a rhythm. 

Nicky was getting used to toning himself down, watering down his personality until it was acceptable enough for polite society. He hates it, and hates himself for it, but if a guy wants to eat, he has to be _normal_ enough to be employable. 

Sidney doesn't seem to mind that he's not normal. He never questions it. Well, aside from a few clarifying follow ups now and then. _"Can all warlocks do that?", "Did you use an incantation for this?", "What's in this drink?",_ those kinds of things. 

Sidney takes to witch culture like a duck to water, like he belonged there and was waiting his whole life to be introduced to the community. Nicky watches him from the stage, and while he tries to mingle in the crowd, he’s always just odd enough to still stand out, an easily identifiable form sitting at a table near the front. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking on his part, because when they’re together, Sidney seems to blend in better. 

When Nicky joins him, he’ll get them a round of drinks, and ask a few more questions. Anything Nicky can’t answer, they outsource to Queenie or Gil, if he can ask it without raising her suspicions, always phoning the next day during more presentable hours. Family, like barbers, tend to not be available at 4 in the morning. 

Sometimes Sidney calls him and starts talking the second he picks up, not bothering with pleasantries or introductions, getting straight to the point.

“Wha- oh, uhh, I’m not sure. I’ll have to ask Gil. You know, you’re lucky the landlady didn’t answer the phone.”

There’s a thoughtful pause. “How do you know she isn’t a witch?”

He laughs. “She’s not.”

“But are you sure? Have you-”

“Yes, I’ve seen her blush!” 

They argue back and forth a bit, Sidney hypothesizing and Nicky shooting down some of the more far-fetched ideas, laughing all the while. Sidney’s clever, sharper than Nicky expected, and with a dry wit that seems corny at first but grows on you. He’s surprised at how well they seem to click, at how well their personalities seem to match. Given Sidney’s oddities, he’s not sure if he should be offended at how they seem to connect on the same wavelength, but for some reason he finds that he isn’t.

\---

For all his peculiarities, Sidney's surprisingly agreeable. He's got a friendly enough disposition, generally on the quiet and soft spoken side, surprising for a big guy like him. Unless the subject was magic, and then he could talk your ear off, if you'd let him. 

Nicky lets him. They've been nearly inseparable since they first met, the guise of research gradually growing thinner as they find any excuse to get together. _"Do you have any plans tonight? I know a place you should check out, you’ll learn a lot"_ turns into _"So where are we going tonight?"_ so effortlessly that Nicky's surprised by how unsurprising it all is. 

On paper, a beatnik and an oddball seem like a winning combination, their shared outside status helping them forge a deeper connection. But Nicky’s been around the block enough times to know it’s never that easy. A part of him is still waiting for that other shoe to drop, and some unseen force ruining his perfect plan. 

Not that he’s mapped it out much further than getting the book published and cashing a check. He doesn’t know what the future holds for him, or for Sidney for that matter. Sidney looks like he should be settling into a comfortable middle age, all soft and sedentary, retiring to the suburbs and only coming into the city to sell another book. 

Bitterness overcomes him when he pictures it, the way Sidney could be so suited to a desk and a wood paneled office and all the trappings of a boring, normal life, if he wanted to. He’d still be eccentric, of course, but in a thoroughly middle-class, conventional way.

He knows not to judge a book by its cover by now, but Sidney defies all expectations, and it wouldn't be hard for him to be swayed into the evils of domestic banality. He has no claim on the man. Hell, he wasn't even the one who summoned him, despite what he told Sidney. 

But as Nicky walks with him down the snowy streets, he finds it easy enough to steer Sidney in any direction. He slips an arm around the older man's, a chummy gesture that can easily be waved off, but Sidney takes it in stride, leaning slightly closer. It's cold, but not so cold they need to huddle for warmth in the middle of a public street. Not yet, at least. 

\---

They walk a lot in those first few weeks, walking in circles and talking in circles. Nicky tended towards manic, always propelled by some sudden burst of energy and unable to keep still if he tried. And docile Sidney could pass for a sheepdog on most days, all shaggy and agreeable and good company in the snow. He’s full of movement too, but on a smaller and slower scale, always shaking his head fondly in agreement, or running his hand through his unruly hair.

Casual touch seems to be how he communicates best, which is odd considering Sidney’s gift with words. Nicky reads over his writing, he knows how good he is at taking intrinsic, hard to define magical concepts and breaking them down until they’re easily understable to even the dullest of humans. But Sidney’s been tactile from the start, those blunt fingers always wandering, eagerly examining a curiosity, or reaching for his own, to grab his attention and point something out. 

He encourages reciprocation, always happy when Nicky’s fingers graze too closely when he’s casting a spell, or tugging him closer as they walk down the street. He never minds when Nicky grabs his hand, or gently steers him, as if he appreciates having someone to guide him. At times he seems downright delighted to be led around. They always walk with their arms linked now, Nicky carefully leading them down the slush-lined sidewalks, Sidney instead focused on him as he asks another question or talks out another problem, watching Nicky try to help him puzzle it out. 

\----

He can’t remember the last time he brought someone home without having to resort to a love potion, and that was well before he spent most of his evenings with Sidney. Romance was overrated as far as he was concerned, especially when you can witch your way into a hot date and never have to worry about the other person again. 

Not that he was a total cad, but since love was off the table for warlocks, fun was the only option left. And it had been a while since he had that kind of fun. 

He only remembers it one night when he’s out with Sidney, and they pass a little coffee shop he hadn’t been in for months. The last time, he’d just gone in for a quick pick-me-up, and wound up taking the barista home. It’s a fond memory, but he pauses in his tracks when he does the math and realizes just how long it’s been.

Sidney takes a minute to notice, still wrapped up in whatever he was saying. He falters when he finally notices Nicky’s not at his side, and looks back in concern. 

Nicky forces a smile back on his face. “It’s nothing, just uh, remembering a date I had here once.”

Sidney frowns. “Bad time?”

“No, far from it.” He doesn’t elaborate, and he can practically hear Sidney’s mind turning, all of the possible questions fighting their way to the front of the line. To his surprise, Sidney doesn’t say anything, just shrugs it off and they keep on walking. But he doesn’t have to wait long, because Sidney steers the conversation back in that direction the following night. 

“We uh, haven’t covered how warlocks date. For the book, I mean.” 

He watches the color rise in Sidney’s cheeks and considers it, and not just for the sake of breaking his dry spell. Sidney’s an appealing guy, and it’s a matter of personal pride that he’s kept things platonic and professional so far. 

Sidney looks at him again, with that quiet, curious reverence. No one's ever looked at him like that, and it’s more intoxicating than any drink. Suddenly he understands why witches have such a bad reputation, because he’d do whatever magic it took- destroy crops, level towns, raise plagues- to keep that look on Sidney’s face. 

Instead he settles for the much more manageable streetlight trick- his bread and butter, sometimes literally, when he's flat broke and has to resort to swiping food from fruit stands and sidewalk vendors under cover of darkness. 

Not that he's had to worry lately. Sidney isn't rich, although he's currently flush with spending money, but he's not one to forgo any indulgence regardless of financial limitations. His dinner is usually of the liquid variety, but they'll sit at the bar together, knees bumping under the countertop, and exchange a fond look as he starts his second bottle and Nicky tears into his third helping. 

Once the usual vices are satisfied, they leave the bar and walk home together, arm in arm in the late January snow. He waits for the perfect moment- a quiet street, empty except for them, brightly lit in the softly falling snow- and he'll stop in his tracks and slowly free his hands. 

Sidney's eyes are on him the whole time, following the movement of his hands to the small, hidden doorway just up the street. Nicky watches him back, the understanding slowly crossing his face- the awe giving way to confusion replaced almost immediately by desire, all conveyed by expressive eyebrows and moustache. 

It’s a shame he has to turn out the lights, because he’d rather like to keep looking at Sidney’s face, curious to see what emotion would pop up next. But it’s worth it once he’s pushed up against the doorway, cold bricks jutting against his back and his front engulfed by the inviting heat under that giant coat. 

\---

Late one night, once they’re pleasantly tired and comfortably tucked into bed, he gets one of his better ideas. 

Careful not to disturb his sleeping bedmate, he fishes a fountain pen up off of the mess on the floor. It’s Sidney’s, it’s flashy, with his initials in gold, and conspicably nicer than everything else he owns. It's well used, and every time he sees it, Nicky realizes there’s still so much he doesn’t know about the man sleeping next to him. _Who could have given it to him?_ , he wonders. _Someone cared enough to buy him a gold pen, and he never talks about it._ Sidney knew everything about him, all his tricks, all of his secrets. They even spent one memorable afternoon mapping out his family tree. But he rarely talked about himself. He must have had some kind of life before relocating to New York, but he never mentioned it, and until now Nicky hadn’t thought to ask. 

It should be reassuring, either way. Clearly Sidney’s capable of moving on, keeping things casual, and it wouldn’t cause lingering harm when they eventually did call things off. He could move to another town, write another book, and life would go on. He might even find another warlock. 

Nicky swallows around a lump in his throat, and tries to picture the alternative. Maybe there’s a reason Sidney had no previous attachments. A guy like him, a bit of an acquired taste, moving from place to place but never settling down or finding anyone to settle down with. Not that Nicky considers them settled down, far from it. They’re-

Ok, maybe he doesn’t have the words for it, but he’s not the writer here. Which brings him back to the initial point of the pen. He shakes the swirling thoughts from his head and gently nudges Sidney onto his side, letting his big arm drape over his chest. 

“‘Nother idea?” Sidney grumbles, already used to this kind of nightly interruption of his beauty sleep. Nicky gets most of his best ideas in bed, but only about half of them are about the book. He jumps when the pen scratches against his skin. “Y’know the typewriter isn’t tha far-”

“It’s too cold,” he retorts, adjusting his grip. “And stop squirming.”

“S’ticklish.”

But Sidney holds still just long enough for Nicky to finish writing his thoughts down. It’s too dark to read it now, and it’ll smudge before morning, but he’s happy enough just to get the words out of his head and onto something real and solid. 

_we should write a sequel_


End file.
